


Hot Guy, Dumpster Vigilante

by Bookdancer



Series: Clint Barton Bingo 2019 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton-centric, Deaf Clint Barton, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Hurt Clint Barton, Vigilante AU, Vigilantism, all the avengers are vigilantes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20356822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookdancer/pseuds/Bookdancer
Summary: Being a vigilante can be gratifying, and Clint’s always glad to save someone — he just wishes they could get his name right for once. Really, what kind of person did they think he was, anyway? Hot Guy… and Hawkeye had had such a nice ring to it.





	Hot Guy, Dumpster Vigilante

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2019 Clint Barton Bingo, prompt: Vigilante.
> 
> Thanks to @queenofmoons67 (tumblr handle) for beta-ing.
> 
> I do not own the Avengers, and I’ve also cross-posted this fic to ff.net (Bookdancer) and tumblr (@bookdancerfics).
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

The thing about being a vigilante wasn’t the aches and bruises under spandex, or having one of your hearing aids double as a comm unit, or the whole business about never really having a proper nemesis. No, Clint reflected as he accidentally breathed in more garbage stink. It was landing in a dumpster and not having anyone to help him out of it.

Above him, someone shoved their apartment window open and peered down at him. Clint didn’t recognize them, but even from a few stories down he could see how their face lit up.

“Hey, hey Bonnie!” the person called back into the building. “Guess who’s in our dumpster? Yeah, _Hot Guy_!”

Then again, Clint thought as he painfully leveraged himself to his feet. The thing about being a vigilante may also be no one getting your name right.

“You get misheard _once_,” he grumbled, and tumbled over the dumpster’s edge to the concrete below.

“Hi, Hot Guy!” someone else called. Probably Bonnie. Clint peered up and spotted a glowing face. A face mask? “I love you!”

Clint waved a hand in response and decided that for his own sake, if not New York’s, it was definitely a face mask and not some unknown creature.

“This is Captain America,” his comm crackled. “I have eyes on MODOK.”

Clint picked up his bow, which had thankfully fallen outside the dumpster, and readjusted his quiver so it sat more comfortably. His back still ached from the fall he’d taken, but it shouldn’t take any more damage.

“Again?” he asked. Cap had brought MODOK down by himself just a few days ago, and he was supposed to have been taken into custody.

“Again,” Cap confirmed. If Clint focused, he could pick out just a touch of annoyance.

He sighed. “On my way. ETA is… where are you?”

There was static, then, “—orner of 5th and West 53rd. By the Uniqlo.”

“ETA is roughly 10 minutes,” Clint said.

“Hot Guy!” Bonnie cried again, and Clint looked up to see her hanging halfway out the window, waving wildly.

He waved back awkwardly, then turned and jogged away. On his way, Falcon chimed in to say he was also headed to the fight, while Black Widow, War Machine, and the other vigilantes with comms said they were either too far away or already pre-occupied.

And, speaking of being pre-occupied… Clint muted his side of the comms and pulled out his old burner phone, the one specifically for calling people when he was on vigilante duty. One call later, and the police knew to pick up the guy he’d left unconscious on the roof of the apartment building. It’d been a lose-lose situation, Clint decided, because the crook got knocked out and arrested, and Clint got to land in yet another dumpster. Not fun for either of them.

He turned the corner onto West 53rd and immediately had to duck a laser beam.

“Hey, watch it!” he yelled.

“Hot Guy, welcome to the fight,” Falcon said.

“_Hawkeye_, Falcon, come on,” Clint complained, and dodged another laser. “I know you know I know you know my actual code name.”

“Hot Guy,” Cap said, with not even a hint of humor in his voice, but Clint would swear the guy was cracking up. “We could really use your help with this one.”

“Right,” Clint said, and promptly took a force field to the head.

* * *

He woke up pretty fast, all things considered, because someone had carried or dragged him into the Uniqlo, where a couple employees were obviously closing shop but still finding the time to stare at him, wide eyed. One of them dropped a shirt on the floor mid-fold, then picked it up slowly, all while staring at him.

He could hear the fight still going on outside, but he tapped his aids anyway just to make sure they were still at his preferred volume. Those settled, he carefully waved at the employees, and they waved back.

“You should go home,” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

“You’re Hot Guy,” one of them said in reply.

“_Hawk_— yeah. Yeah, okay, you know what, yeah.” He pressed a hand to his head and winced.

One of the employees pointed at the door. “Falcon said to tell you to join them when you’re able.”

Clint took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem,” they said in unison.

Clint grabbed his dropped bow for the second time that night, shot a parting wave at the employees, and left to the sound of “Why is his name Hot Guy again?”

Cap greeted him as soon as he was outside, holding his shield up to block the lasers and anything else coming their way.

“Glad to be back,” Clint said. “Sorry about —”

He waved a hand around, meaning to encompass everything that had happened.

“Not your fault,” Cap said. “Force fields are invisible.” He peered at Clint, looking surprisingly well put together for a man in the middle of a fight. “You should probably wear something other than spandex, though. Armor or something. Kevlar, maybe.”

Clint shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Cap nodded, firm, then sniffed. “Did you fall in another dumpster?”

Clint groaned. “Aw, is it that obvious?”

“Just a little,” Cap laughed, then pointed at MODOK. “You think you could take him out with a concussive arrow?”

“Karmic justice?” Clint asked, and grinned. “Cap, it would be my genuine pleasure.”

The end of the fight seemed almost lackluster, compared to the rest of it, but at that point Clint couldn’t care less. Instead, he and Falcon watched from the rooftops at Cap handed MODOK over to the authorities for the second time in four days.

“Drinks tonight?” Falcon asked as they all prepared to split ways again.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Your place?”

Falcon nodded. “You bring the beer, I’ll supply the med kit. Just make sure to shower first!”

“Why, you!” Clint faked a grab for Falcon, but he was already gone, wheeling into the air with a laughing salute.

Clint sighed, but waved goodbye to Cap even as he took off across the rooftops. Tonight, and the night after, and every night after that if his body allowed it, he would be a vigilante. Hawkeye —sort of— to his friends, Hot Guy to the public. And, as long as he didn’t fall into any more dumpsters, he guessed he would have to be okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> In regards to Clint, I am an able-bodied author writing a character with a disability. Please, if you feel like I messed up in any way, tell me and I will do my best to fix it.
> 
> Also, I have a tumblr account, @bookdancerfics, so please feel free to drop by. Sometimes I post writing updates.
> 
> And, finally, please comment here! I love hearing what people think


End file.
